


Red-headed Orphans

by JenicaKing



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Nestor is long-suffering, Punching, Tintin is a nervous wreck, historically accurate assholery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 03:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7026829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenicaKing/pseuds/JenicaKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haddock hold a party, Tintin deals with being a redhead in the early twentieth century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red-headed Orphans

**Author's Note:**

> This was entirely written for edorazzi on tumblr, go look at her Tintin stuff, it's awesome. This has also been sitting unfinished for over a year so... tada~?

It was a relatively small party, though still bigger than Tintin knew the Captain preferred. Tintin allowed himself a small smile over his water as he glanced at the man, only half as sullen as he usually would be by this point since the ever so lovely Milanese Nightingale was away on a tour of Europe and thus sent her apologies a few days prior. Snowy whimpered restlessly at his feet and he patted the dog’s head, hushing him softly. He looked up and laughed softly as the Captain, no doubt engaged in a tale from his younger years, bumped Nestor, very nearly spilling an entire tray of champagne. He must ask the man how he managed to incorporate such blunders into his tales almost seamlessly. There was, after all a reason Tintin preferred the written word.

“I must say, it is surprising to see the famed boy reporter in colour.” Tintin’s eyes flicked over to the conversation, albeit discretely, it was an elegantly dressed woman veritably dripping in finery that had spoken but it was her companion in a perfectly tailored suit that responded.

“Yes, pity about the colouring.”

“Though it does explain the amount of fist fights in his stories.” Another man piped up and the trio laughed amongst themselves.

Tintin physically felt his eyes darken as he knelt to put a reassuring hand on Snowy’s head. He swore the dog could tell what people were saying. Especially if it concerned Tintin. The little terrier was growling angrily, hackles raised.

The first man laughed again, pointing to them, “Look! The mutt matches his master!”

And of course that comment had to come at a lull in conversation. The teenager could feel the eyes of the room on him, just waiting for the typical red-headed response. For anger, for shouting, for fighting. Snowy’s growling intensified, and he barked angrily, teeth bared. “Hush, boy. It’s alright,” Tintin hummed, ignoring the way his fingers tightened around his glass. He wouldn’t give them what they wanted. He hadn’t when he was small and alone and didn’t understand why no-one who came to the orphanage wanted him even though he was smart and well behaved did everything he was told and he certainly wouldn’t now that he was almost eighteen and knew the world and its dangers far better than these people who had decided to judge him for something so mundane as his hair. On top of that this was Marlinspike and these people, like it or not, were the Captain’s friends. This was not the time or place. Snowy was looking at him questioningly, so he gave him grim smile and lifted him into his arms. He could tell that the dog wasn’t happy with not being allowed to defend his master but Tintin wouldn’t cause a scene.

“Oi!” The sound of flesh on flesh resounded through the hall, accompanied by the sound of bone cracking. The Captain shook his hand out without losing the look of absolute fury on his face, “You wanna say tha’ again?” Snowy took advantage of Tintin’s shock and leapt out of his arms, landing by the captain’s side barking angrily. The man was clutching his jaw wiping blood on a handkerchief. His friends pulled him up apologising profusely but Haddock cut him off with a string of curses that put his normal string of euphemisms to shame. “Out! Get out! You and anyone who agrees with you!”

“Honestly, man. Keep your head. You can’t be serious.”

“Serious? Serious? Out! Every single one of you! I’ll fill this house to the rafters with Irish red-headed orphans before I let a single one of you back inside!” Haddock bellowed, Snowy barking his agreement. For a moment no one moved until the Captain started swearing, all but chasing them out of the house with Snowy as backup. It wasn’t until the last of the guests had driven off that the front door slammed closed with enough force to cause Nestor to almost vault across the parlour to save a vase that rested against the wall that joined it to the hall. He slammed the parlour door as well and Nestor bounded to the other wall before a painting of Sir Francis and the Unicorn fell.

Tintin was nervously wringing shaking hands. He knew that forging friendships in high society hadn’t been easy for the Captain. Family connections aside Haddock was a sailor, the social intricacies the upper class didn’t come naturally to him, (though Tintin had a theory that they didn’t come easily of anyone) and now because of Tintin’s very presence he’d lost those connections he had forged. All of them in a single night. There was no way he could think of to fix this. He was so worried, fretting about what he could say to the Captain, that he didn’t notice Snowy’s return. The small dog nosed at his ankle whining softly, because he could tell how nervous his master was even if the boy hadn’t noticed just how much he was wrinkling the cuffs he’d been so careful with all day. He wetted his lips nervously, about to apologise when two heavy hands landed on his shoulders. His head shot up to see the Captain, with the gentlest look in his eyes that Tintin could remember seeing on the old sailor (every other time he’d been barely conscious), “Ye alright, old man?”

He could physically feel the nervous energy dissipate and trickle out his fingertips and it takes a moment for him to realise that Haddock is actually asking because how could he not be? It was the first time he could remember being defended for anything of that nature in his life. The first time someone had stood up and said no, that’s wrong. You’re wrong. Tintin let out a heavy breath, his mouth failed to form any words to answer that of course he was. Even if it had he didn’t think any sound would be able to make it past the lump in his throat so he just gave up and beamed. He could feel tears picking at his eyes but he ignored them, nodding softly. Haddock smiled, patted his shoulder, pulled him into a quick, warm hug, “Good man. Now!” He pulled back, grinning, “Let’s finish all those canapes that were left behind!”

Tintin laughed, wiping at his eyes, “Why not?” He picked up Snowy as he let the older man guide him towards the food.


End file.
